


Poison and Wine

by pearlsandsteel



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/M, Letters, Love Triangle, mention of death and body horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27882434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearlsandsteel/pseuds/pearlsandsteel
Summary: She leans down, tongue sliding over steel, my blood smearing her lips -  and then she turns around to kiss you. And with every kiss you twist the  dagger further into my chest, deeper. Can’t you taste my blood in her  kiss? Don’t you notice the taste of iron?
Relationships: Female Detective/Adam du Mortain/Nate Sewell
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Poison and Wine

**Author's Note:**

> [] = crossed out

Over the centuries I heard many people say that love and hate aren’t contraries and in my long life I have never encountered a greater truth. But they also say that there’s a thin line dividing them - I have to disagree. There are no lines, not for me, not when it comes to her. She blurs them all, everything flows into each other, it mixes and creates something else, something new, something I can only describe as poison, poison that tastes like wine. When it comes to her there are no lines, I don’t sway between love and hate, I feel both, I taste both, the poison and the wine. The love and the hate I feel for her aren’t two different things, they are one, they are a single emotion, an emotion that burns and freezes me at the same time. And one thing have the flames of a fire and an avalanche in common - it kills.

I love her and I hate that I do. And so should you, you should hate me, you should look at me with disgust, scream at me, but instead you smile. And I’ve come to realize that a smile, that love and kindness, hurt more than a bullet, than hate ever could.

Would you still smile at me, still call me your friend if you knew the truth? If you knew that I’m craving that very bottle of wine, at the top of the shelf, you’ve been waiting so long to drink? If you knew that I was so close to shattering it? That I would’ve fallen to my knees to lap it from the ground even though the shards would’ve cut my tongue. That I would’ve lapped up every single drop even as the wine would’ve turned to poison in my mouth, even though it would’ve been my death.

She is poison and still I’m willing to drink it. I keep lapping it from the ground as if she’s water and I’m a man dying of thirst in the desert, seeing an oasis, realizing too late that it’s just a mirage, that I’m swallowing sand. It pours down my throat, etching it, just as her touch sears my skin, her words bleed in my ears and still I crave for more. Maybe because it’s the only thing that makes me feel, she makes me feel alive even as she’s killing me. It’s pain and torture but perhaps it’s better than feeling nothing at all. It’s almost funny - for centuries I had preferred numbness, I wish nothing more than to feel it again and still, I keep choosing agony, keep choosing her, craving her.

I crave to hear her voice, I swallow every little note that leaves her lips. It runs down my throat like cool water, for a moment soothing my burns only to leave worse ones behind, to leave my throat dry, making me crave it even more. I crave to see her eyes, they’re like the sun, they shine so bright even in the dim shine of a streetlight. When I look into her eyes I can suddenly see for the very first time and what I see is breathtaking. There is light and colours, so many colours but the only one I care about is the green of her iris. She makes me see only to leave me blind when she averts her gaze, turning it to you. And all I’m left with is the faint memory of colours and light. I crave to touch her. Only when I touch her, when I can feel her skin under my fingertips, when I can feel the warmth she radiates on my own, I can breathe. Fresh oxygen fills my lungs, just to steal my breath completely the moment our contact breaks, leaving me gasping for air, for her. I reach for her, for her hand, for anything, desperate for her touch, but all her hands do is close around my neck, suffocating me.

I crave her love. I was dead for so long and her love revived me. I live, I’m alive, after walking through hell for centuries I’m in heaven. And then - then she rams a dagger into my heart, to kill me slowly and cruelly. Blood drops from the blade, runs down her hand, her arm, staining her clothes crimson. And do you know what she does then? She leans down, tongue sliding over steel, my blood smearing her lips - and then she turns around to kiss you. And with every kiss you twist the dagger further into my chest, deeper. Can’t you taste my blood in her kiss? Don’t you notice the taste of iron?

You know, I have never believed in a higher power, but now I lay awake wondering what sins I must have committed for the gods to punish me like this. They had created her, had steered our paths so they would meet, just to dangle her in front of my eyes like a decoy, to get me to reach for her, to reach for the forbidden fruit, only to fall into a deep, dark crater filled with thorns in the attempt. To get me to rip out my heart out of my chest with my own two hands, to step forwards and cut off my limbs with the chains on my wrists and ankles your love for her has put around them. And I am, I’m reaching for her and even with thorns stuck in my chest I keep reaching for her, straining against the metal, twisting my joints, breaking my bones just to get a little closer.

And believe me if I could, if it would kill me, if it could end all this, I would rip it out. And sacrifice it to the gods, letting them devour my mangled and shredded heart in hope that it would be enough, enough to keep all sorrow from you, to grant your happiness.

900 years I was a nonbeliever, but she - meeting her was like a religious awakening and loving her is a sacrilege. She’s a blessing and a curse, she is the wooden cross on my shoulders and your love for her are the nails tearing through my flesh, the bolts getting rammed into my palms.

She could be my salvation, her kiss would be my baptism, her lips holy water. And I can’t stop wondering what kissing her is like. In my dreams it’s like walking on water, after drowning for so long, after fighting the waves of the ocean for so long, I can walk on it, instead of trying to pull me down it carries me. But I’m not walking on water, I’m still drowning. She could be my salvation but she chose to be my damnation instead. And I keep asking myself how long? For how many years will I have to suffer in the purgatory of your love for her, of my love for her, until I atoned for all my sins? Will it ever end - or does an eternity of agony await me? I’m begging, pleading for salvation, for you to just end my misery. I lay my head onto the executioners block and I wonder who will wield the scythe, you or her?

Perhaps myself, perhaps I will be the one to wield it, to end my own misery. I already torture myself, cut into my own flesh, with every glance in her direction, with every little touch, with every word I speak to her. Words filed with lies and denial, words my lips form to hurt her, words that are created to push her away. And they haunt me, my own words haunt my dreams, ‘I feel nothing’. They had burned my throat, shredded my tongue, they had tasted bitter like the lie that they were. Blood had accompanied them, just as read as the wine on her lips that spoke those same words to me, like another dagger, laced with poison, that tore through my heart. I can’t say what hurt more, the pain her words caused me or seeing the one I had caused in her eyes.

No,...this is just another lie, I know exactly which one.

I can suffer my own pain but hers is something I can’t bear. My own pain is buried deep and cruel in my chest like a heavy sword, but it’s a constant pain, a pain you can get used to. But hers, every time she hurts there are a thousand sharp knives that thrust into my heart, it feels like the last blow, the final one that sends me to my death.

But even my death wouldn’t end this, would it? I don’t need to be alive to love her, I don’t need a body to long for her. My soul longs for her just the same, it longs for hers but yours is like an insurmountable wall between them. My lips long to say her name, and you? Even her nickname falls from your lips like it’s nothing. My eyes long to hold her gaze, to see, but guilt makes me blind, and you? Your gaze swallows hers until it seems like you’re drowning in each other. But maybe it’s better like this, my eyes aren’t worthy of her beauty anyway, it shines bright, too bright, it’s like looking directly into the sun, it would only burn them - and still, I can’t look away. My words long to make her smile, but they put tears on her face instead, and you? You make her laughter ring down every hall, it echoes in my head like a symphony and a screech at the same time. It’s a pleasure hearing it, but a torture knowing that not I was the one who caused it.

My heart is set aflame and every time you make her laugh, smile, every time you kiss her, your love burns it more, the hungry flames of your love keep licking on it until it’s all burned to ash.

And still, I would walk through the fire for her, would let the hellfire burn my flesh, let it sear me alive, for her, for her love. I’m reaching for the stars, well aware that I will never get close enough to feel their light. And still - still I’m reaching for them, still I keep holding my hands into the flames.

For her.

[She]

[She is]

She truly is all and everything, this is the only way I can describe her. She is the air that I breathe, she is the wind in my face, she is the ground that I walk on and the blood flowing through my veins. She is the world that I live in and my love for her are storms and floods, earthquakes and wildfires - destined to destroy her.

And if I would be a better man, like you are, I would stay away, for her sake, for your sake, for my own. I wish I had the strength to do so but I’m weak and foolish. And she - she is everything.

And her eyes, god, her eyes, their green is so deep as if a forest stretches behind them. Woods I want to get lost in, want to wander through for hours, days, eternity. I want to know every inch of it, every tree, every root and every leaf.

I want to feel the breeze that courses through the branches like the ghost of a whispered confession and I want to feel the storms which squalls are mighty enough to make trees fall like toothpicks, to violently yank their roots from the ground. And if I could, I would upright them again, would carry their weight on my shoulders - but I’m weak and my bones are broken.

I want to feel the warmth of cosy bonfires, want to feel the warmth of her embrace...I’m so cold. And I want to feel the wildfires, the searing flames burning deep inside our hearts, want to feel its heat.

But it's too hot, too intense, its flames too hungry, ready to devour anything in their way. They would leave behind nothing but ash.

I will not let them devour you, I will not let you burn for me, even if you’d ask me to. I will not let the fire devour you, even if I have to tear every tree from the ground to stop it from reaching you, even if I have to extinguish it with my own hands. I will take these burns, these scars for you.

And if I have to I will rip the gap between her and I wider apart and I will carry rocks there to throw them into my own way.

I’m standing with my back pressed to a dam and I’m trying to hold the flood back with everything I have. But she keeps raining and raining and the water level keeps rising, the pressure is getting too much.

Sometimes little drops manage to break through and she absorbs them like the dry and torn ground of a field that has only ever known drought. And I can see sprouts spring up from the ground.

I’m desperately trying to stuff the holes but I have no loam left. So I’m trying to rip out the sprouts, but their roots cling to the earth and they keep getting stronger and stronger. And for each plant I rip out several new ones shoot from the ground and they keep growing faster. And with each one I rip out I rip a piece out of my heart. And I wonder, have you ever known drought? No, your fields stretch for miles in the richest greens.

God, do you hear me? How can I think such things?

And how - how could I tell the person that deserves happiness the most that what makes him happy is my only chance at it too, that she is the only cure for this loneliness deep rooted in my heart to ever exist?

How could I tell you, my best friend, for centuries the only person that gave a damn about me, the only person I cared about, the one that kept me from going crazy, how could I tell you that when I look into her eyes I feel the same as you do?

And how could I ever ask her to choose? How could I ask her to choose when there is such an obvious right answer. How could I ever ask her to even consider me? How could I ask her to choose me over you? How could I ask her this when you could make her happy, when you could give her everything, everything she deserves and I could give her nothing but the broken shell of a person?

It wouldn’t be fair, not for you, not for her. It would be selfish, the most selfish thing someone could do, not only asking one person to give up their happiness for them but two? And still there’s a part of me, deep down, a dark and ugly part, wishing it were only me. A part that wants her to myself, that wants to feel the warmth of her in my arms, that wants to know the taste of her kiss like you do. There is a part of me that wishes I could just openly ask for her love like you do. There is a selfish, broken part in me that, in my weakest moments, wishes it were only her and I.

It scares me sometimes, to think what I would do for her, to think about all the things I would do for her love. It scares me to think that I would hurt you for it.

I wish I could stop it, but it’s too late, isn’t it? I drank a poison without a cure. And I can’t help thinking...that I would’ve swallowed the poison even without the wine. I’m nothing but an addict and she is my drug, she keeps destroying me and still, I crave her.

[I crave

I long

I yearn

I want

I pine

I desire

I love

I love

I love]

I love her

and I hate.

But none of this matters, not when you love, not when you love her, not when -

she loves you.

\---

Adams hand clenched to a fist around the paper, crumbling it to a ball before throwing it into the flames of the cozy fire crackling in the fireplace next to him. His hand clung to the wooden edges of the board above, trying to keep himself upright. He leaned his head against the cool brick, he could feel the heat rising from the fire underneath on his face and for a moment he wished it would just devour him too.

There was a loud crack as the wood splittered under his grip. Oh, Nate would scold him for this tomorrow -

Nate. A sickening feeling overcame him. He could still hear his own words echoing in his mind, could still feel the movement of his hand writing them down. It was liberating to write them down, blood had risen in his throat, so he had to bleed it somewhere, onto this paper, his love his ink, his pain his quill. But it had only lasted for a moment, now guilt and regret rose in him like the bile in his throat.

He couldn’t breathe. He needed air, he needed to scream. On unsteady feet he hurried out of the room, not having realized the open window. Not having realized the gust of wind blowing in, a gust of wind just strong enough to carry the piece of paper out of the hungry firers reach, away from the flames that were so desperately grasping for it with the promise of keeping all his secrets, with the promise of turning them all to ash.

\---

The early morning hours were always Nates favorite time of the day, it is a quiet time, a peaceful time, a good time to read a book. Luckily Nate doesn’t need sleep and with Morgan and Farah out on a mission and Adam being held with paperwork at the facility, it was only Nate and the chirping of the waking birds.

He was about to settle into his favorite armchair with a book and a cup of tea as a shiver coursed through his body. He noticed the open window someone must’ve left open earlier that night, probably Adam or Farah. After closing it he turned to the fireplace, wanting to ignite a small fire to warm himself, but something on the ground caught his gaze, a scrunched up piece of paper he carefully uncreased on his leg.

The sound of his tea cup shattering on the ground was loud in the silence of the empty room but not quite loud enough to cover up the sound of a breaking heart.

The early morning hours were always Nates favorite time of the day, it is a quiet time, a peaceful time, a good time to read a letter...


End file.
